


The Only Heaven I’ll Be Sent To (Is When I’m Alone With You)

by kataurah



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Emotional Sex, F/M, First Time, Fluff, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Canon, Romance, Season/Series 10, Smut, smut and feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:09:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24270361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kataurah/pseuds/kataurah
Summary: She kisses him and it feels as though he’s already about to shake right out of his skin.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Carol Peletier
Comments: 5
Kudos: 74





	The Only Heaven I’ll Be Sent To (Is When I’m Alone With You)

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been here for years and yet this is my first time writing Caryl smut! Cross posted at Nine Lives.

She kisses him and it feels as though he’s already about to shake right out of his skin. 

This isn’t the first time they’ve kissed, but it is the first time whilst standing in a room with a bed and a locked door, bare-footed and lightly clothed. The first time it’s had the edge of intent: a prelude to more. He’s a tight knot of anticipation and nerves, need and fear. Why can’t his brain just be in his pants right now like any regular guy? Why does it have to be so loud in his head? He can’t fuck this up, but oh god, what if he does? Daryl just wants so badly to make her feel as good as she’s making him feel right now, just with the parting of her soft lips against his, allowing him to learn her taste, and the press of her small, strong, capable body, warm through the barriers of clothing he wants gone. 

Except that’s a terrifying thought: being exposed in every way possible, every scar and flaw laid bare for ridicule and shame (not that she ever would, he knows; Carol would _never_ ) and his heart on display, so raw and vulnerable he might as well tear into his own chest, pry his ribcage open and offer it to her, still beating. He wants to see her, feel her, know her. Worship every inch of her until he knows exactly how to make her sigh and moan with exquisite precision. But allowing her to do the same for him has tendrils of panic threatening to overcome the love and desire he feels in this moment, even though he trusts her more than he ever has anyone in his whole life, and his heart is pounding but not in a good way and -

“Hey...” Carol breaks their kiss with a breathless whisper but remains close, hands fluttering soothingly over his shoulders and down his heaving chest, and Daryl keeps his eyes shut, leaning down until their foreheads meet, and simply breathes her in. “I can feel you overthinking,” she continues, quiet and understanding.

“M’sorry.” He wishes he didn’t sound so damn pathetic. He wishes he knew what the fuck he was doing, that he could be what she deserves.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” she says, firmly this time, and Daryl wants to look at her face, into her eyes, to see the tender, fierce expression he knows is there. But it will make him feel far too seen and he isn’t sure he won’t just start fucking crying on the spot and this... this is not how he wanted this to go. 

Perhaps Carol senses this too, for her fingers start to card gently through the strands of hair that curl around his neck. “We can take it slow, you know, if you want.” 

Daryl wants... God, how he wants. 

“Want you.” It tumbles out of his mouth and into the soft skin of her neck, an admission as easy as breathing because it’s the simplest truth he knows. Well, almost. But he’s not ready to say _that_ quite yet, and he’s not sure she’s ready to hear it. 

“Okay...” He can hear the smile in her voice and suddenly _needs_ to see it too. He straightens just enough so that he can see her face and yup, there it is; there’s a full-on grin lighting up her face, her happiness and affection unrestrained in a way he’s sure he’s never seen before and he can’t believe that _he_ is the cause of it. “Well, that’s a good start.” 

He can’t not kiss her then and recaptures her lips with his own, encouraged by the way she moans sweetly in the back of her throat and arches into him, clutching his shoulders. He reminds himself that kissing Carol is something he didn’t know how to do until recently and he’s determined to master this skill; so he’ll apply the same time and diligence to everything else since he’s nothing if not observant and a quick study and he’s never been more passionate about a subject before. 

Daryl slips his hands, where they’ve been holding her lightly at her waist, beneath her the thin henley she wears then, and is rewarded with a full body shiver. He caresses warm, soft, uncharted skin with his thumbs, marvels at the way his hands span her rib cage and the hitched giggle muffled by his mouth, telling him she’s ticklish. 

“A _really_ good start,” she gasps when they pause to breathe, and he feels more than a little reassured by the way she sounds just as affected and undone as him (he is very, very aware that he’s well on the way to being fully hard just from kissing her.) 

Perhaps she figures - correctly - that he needs a further nudge to move things along, because suddenly she’s pulling her top over her head and all the air leaves his lungs. 

Carol looks up at him, wearing a mixed expression of mischief and apprehension, and slowly reaches for the top button of his own shirt; he still can’t help the slight flinch. 

“It’s you and me, Daryl. Just you and me,” she says, softly, but her fingers still, waiting for his express consent. 

That’s right, he thinks, willing away his nerves and old defensive instincts even as his heart still flutters wildly in his chest, this is Carol, and he has no reason to fear her. There is no mockery or rejection to come; all the love and acceptance he feels for her are mirrored back at him in her steady gaze. 

He finds a smile tugging at his lips and breathes deep, nodding. 

“That’s good. If anyone else was here I’d kick their ass.” 

She snorts (adorably), visibly delighted by his humour even if he doesn’t think it was all that funny, and when her nimble fingers start plucking at his buttons again he doesn’t stop her, focuses entirely on her now playful grin. 

“Yeah... I don’t particularly wanna share you.” She teases.

“Pfft, not a chance.” 

And then his brain stutters to a halt as Carol begins to map his skin with her touch, trailing flickering blazes of heat over his bare shoulders, arms, chest, and Daryl draws his own hands back up from the dip in her waist (where they naturally seem to fit), brushing daringly at the soft undersides of her breasts through worn fabric, to trace the delicate ridge of her collarbone. His mouth follows his fingers there, pressing open-mouthed kisses to her shoulder, her neck, and she gasps quietly into his ear. 

“ _Daryl_...” 

Fuck, he wants to hear her say his name like that for the rest of his sorry life. 

It feels as though her hands are everywhere by now, one moment splayed over his shoulder blades, the next buried in his hair as he tastes the salt of her skin between her breasts. She will be feeling the raised scar tissue decorating his back especially, but Daryl doesn’t care. Everywhere she touches him is being remade, transformed into something precious and beloved; the care and attention she’s showing him is seeping into his skin and settling in his bones. He is not just hers, he is more himself than he has ever been. 

Carol rocks into him then, rubbing herself against him where he’s hard and straining, falling forward and chasing the sweet friction and Daryl’s gripping her hips, either to steady her or keep her moving against him or both, fuck knows. They’re kissing again, hungrier for each other than ever before, and it’s all he can do to keep up, open mouths and hot breath and -

She lets out a small squeak and giggle of surprise when suddenly he lifts her clear off the ground and into his arms. It slows the torrent of desperate need they’d been swept up in somewhat, and Daryl is glad for it; he wants to take his time with this. 

Not too much time though, he thinks, as Carol smiles down at him with darkened eyes and kiss-swollen lips, arms and legs hooked tight around him, and he nearly trips over himself in the few hurried steps it takes to get them to the bed. When he manages to lay her down smoothly she barely loosens her grip and he almost topples on to her, only just catching himself with an arm either side of her head as she draws him down into a deep, searing kiss. His hips settle easily, cradled between her legs, and he can’t believe they’re here, that it feels so natural to have Carol here beneath him, driving him crazy with her hands on his skin and little sighs and hums of pleasure into his mouth. 

Daryl can feel the heat of her, pressed against him through their clothes and he can’t help but grind down and Carol meets him halfway and fuck, if he’s not careful he could come just from this, still in his pants, rutting like a teenage boy. He wants so much better for Carol though, and it turns out it’s simple enough then to focus entirely on her instead. Ignoring any remaining traces of self doubt, he finally palms a breast over the threadbare cotton of her bra, thumb brushing the peaked, sensitive nipple there, thrilling in the way her breath hitches and she arches into his touch. All he has to do then is slide his hands under her back (though she makes a noise of dismay when he stops exploring her chest, she quickly understands what he’s aiming for and curves her back further to give him room to work) and by some miracle manages to undo her bra clasp like he knows what he’s doing. 

The sight of her half naked is almost enough to undo him: all pale, freckled skin (he wants to kiss every single one, find hidden constellations) the perfect curves of her breasts and rosy nipples that make his mouth water to taste...

So he does. 

He’s rewarded with a breathless “ _oh!”_ that he immediately wants to hear again. Daryl wants to hear every undiscovered sound he’s yet to draw from her, the music of Carol as he plays her body. He kisses, licks and nips his way over her chest and her hands are in his hair again, nails lightly scratching his scalp in a way that makes him shiver, familiar and yet entirely new. He hears a deep rumbling noise, like a lion purring, and realises belatedly - and with far less embarrassment than he’d have expected - that it’s coming from his own chest. Carol’s hips jerk maddeningly into his every time he swirls his tongue around a nipple and sucks lightly, and if it weren’t for that constant reminder of what awaits him he’d be content to stay here forever. 

Besides, she’s flushed and worked up and he senses (with amusement) her building impatience. 

“Wanna do this right,” he offers by way of explanation, even though she didn’t ask. He drops a kiss to her sternum, the soft barely-swell of her belly, thumbing the waistband of the comfortable cotton pants she wears in question. “Take our time.” 

“We can do that next time,” she replies, breathlessly nodding her assent and titling her hips. “Or the time after that... I plan on us having plenty of chances.” 

He’d known that this was the beginning of something, not at all a one time deal, but happiness still blooms in his chest to hear her talking like this, clearly babbling a little nervously, endearingly, as he slides what’s left of her clothing down her legs and baring her to him completely. 

Daryl drinks in the sight of her like a man dying of thirst and knows beyond a doubt that this image of her, this first time, will be seared into his mind’s eye forever. 

He takes in every curve and angle, every wrinkle and mark (delights in every freckle, aches with every scar.) Carol doesn’t shy away from his gaze, even as it lands on the faint stretch marks on her lower belly, the traces of her daughter left on her body, though she trembles ever so slightly when his fingers brush them seemingly of their own accord. 

He doesn’t linger; he doesn’t want sadness intruding on this moment, and draws his hands slowly up her legs, soft hairs tickling his palms, parting them a little more as he leans forward and his gaze drops to the dark curls nestled between them. He catches a glimpse of slick, pink folds of flesh and feels a sharp stab of arousal deep in his belly, coiling tense like a spring, his cock throbbing almost painfully, still in his jeans. 

Carol whispers his name then and, as Daryl’s eyes snap back up to meet her’s, all blown pupils and wide, intense stare, he wonders what she sees on his face. She clearly likes it, whatever it is. 

“Now you.” 

She makes to sit up, hands already reaching for his belt buckle -

“Wait.” He stills her with one hand on her shoulder; the other is splayed over her thigh, thumb drawing little circles on the soft skin inside, so damn close to where he wants to touch her. 

And he _wants_ to touch her, badly. He just wants to do it right. 

“Wanna make you feel good.” 

“You are,” She’s breathless, tilting her hips into his caress, “You _do_.”

“No, I mean...” Daryl leans over her, easing her back fully into the pillows; he presses closer, skin to skin, and draws on his courage. “I wanna know what you like. How you want me to... “ His mouth is dry and her eyes are even wider than before. It feels like she’s holding her breath. He swallows, shifts over so that he’s more lying along her side, and removes his hand from her thigh, only to take one of hers and draw it back down to that same spot. “... Show me?”

Carol’s breath hitches, eyes wide again, locked on his as the meaning of his request sinks in. Daryl sees the nervousness and arousal battling inside him mirrored on her face and wonders - not for the first time - if she’s unused to having her own pleasure be made the sole focus. He understands the vulnerability in what he’s asking, wanting to share in an act that she would do to herself in private; he knows it would sure as hell make him feel exposed too. 

Then she breathes deeply and her hand moves and all thought crashes abruptly to a halt. 

She starts slowly, tentatively, clearly somewhat self-conscious still as Daryl’s eyes flicker between her face and the movement of her fingers, her body as she relaxes in increments. They become lost in each other’s gaze, the intensity of the moment, until Carol does something that has her sighing, eyelashes fluttering, and it turns into a small laugh.

“Watch and learn, Daryl,” she teases breathlessly, and shivers of pure want break over him. 

_Yes, ma’am_ , he thinks, lips twitching with the threat of a smile. He is nothing if not observant and applies himself thoroughly, watching her motions with intent, each stroke and quiver; each expression as her eyes fall shut and she gives herself over to her pleasure; each noise each touch elicits. 

When she whispers his name, he knows what she wants, and he’s ready. 

His fingers replace hers, slipping through her delicate, wet folds and they both moan at the same time… then he applies what he’s learned. 

He traces her movements, following the map of Carol he’s begun to draw in his head, the one he intends to fill in to the tiniest detail. When he rubs tiny circles over her clit with his fingertips, her hips jerk up against his hand and she gasps.

“ _Yes_ , like that.” 

Gradually, Daryl builds her up, occasionally following whispered directives in single words, broken sentences. He thinks about doing this to her with his mouth and plans to not let her leave this bed until he has. He slips two fingers inside her, images her heat wrapped around his cock, and has to bite his lip to stop himself from fucking _whimpering_ out loud. 

When he makes her come she cries out and clutches at him, muscles tensing and spasming as he watches waves of pleasure roll through her body, and Daryl thinks it’s the hottest thing he’s seen in his life. Then, as she’s coming down, he gives in to the temptation to suck her slickness from his fingers and finds she’s watching him beneath hooded eyes. 

“Come here,” she breathes, something dark and hungry in her voice that makes his cock throb, and he crawls over her to kiss her messily, sharing her taste. “You pay _very_ close attention.”

He allows himself a proud little smirk, “You knew that already.” 

Her answering smile is full of knowing affection, “I did.” 

Carol reaches for his belt again, and this time Daryl lets her. He doesn’t even spare a thought to be embarrassed or self-conscious anymore because it feels as though his skin is on fire and he is hard and aching and _oh so_ desperate to be inside her and it seems Carol is of the same mind, ridding him of his clothes with a new kind of urgency. 

And then there are no barriers left between them and Carol unexpectedly, with that hidden strength, flips them over. She sits astride him - sliding herself a little over his cock in a way that’s driving him insane - naked and flushed, hair falling wild and messy over her shoulders, eyes wicked and wanting, and Daryl thinks: no, _this_ is the hottest thing he’s ever seen. Then he thinks he’s going to be constantly reevaluating that conviction. 

_Then_ he thinks nothing at all because he sits up abruptly to kiss the smirk from her lips, arms wrapping around her, just as Carol shifts to align them and slowly sinks down on to him. 

Carol hums and he growls, “ _Fuck_ ” into her mouth, and it’s better than anything he’d ever imagined during the many sleepless nights he’s spent thinking about her and missing her and dreaming of something he never thought he’d have. Now - impossibly, incredibly - he is _inside_ Carol, and nothing has felt more like home before. 

“Gimme -“ He gasps at the feeling of her muscles fluttering around him, telltale heat coiling, throbbing low in his belly, “Gimme a sec.” 

Fuck, this is going to be over before it even starts if he can’t reign himself in. Daryl forces himself to breathe slowly, deeply, head falling forward to rest against her collarbone, and Carol’s hands are in his hair again; she’s patient and soothing. 

“Ain’t gonna last long,” He mumbles, shamefully, “m’sorry.” 

“Hey, it’s my turn to rock _your_ world,” she says in that sassy way of hers, but her smile is gentle when he looks up at her and her kiss is soft, “Practice makes perfect, and I wanna practice a _lot_.” 

Daryl huffs into her neck, worries receding, grips her hips, giving an experimental thrust that has her gasping in surprised pleasure, and thinks maybe she won’t reduce him to a completely useless mess… at least not right away. Then she starts moving. 

It’s good; it’s _so_ good he’s already half mad with it, and there’s a fire building inside of him, burning white hot and sparking every nerve ending alight. He keeps thrusting, meeting Carol’s rhythm as best he can, holding her tight and close as she braces her hands on his shoulders. They don’t kiss so much as breathe in each other’s air, heated and charged between them, foreheads pressed together, Carol’s moans and sighs the sweetest sound. 

It is intense and intimate and over all too soon. 

Daryl’s orgasm hits him like a gut-punch: knocking the wind out of him, shooting up his spine and blurring his vision. He is lost to heat and sensation and _Carol Carol Carol_ , arms crushing her to him - his heart pounding against hers, _for_ hers - and he’d be worried, as he starts to come back to himself, that he might be hurting her, were she not holding on to him just as tightly. 

Her arms are around his neck, the fingers of one hand curled into his hair, and Daryl realises they are both shaking. He feels overwhelmed, flayed raw… and at peace with it. 

And when she smiles down at him, eyes wet and shining, and strokes his face, he knows she feels the same. “Hey.” A soft, tremulous exhalation that somehow manages to convey everything. 

“Hey.” He tastes salt and salvation on her lips. 


End file.
